Signifying Something
by ComplicatedDisorder
Summary: A fanfiction for Maiden of the Moon's "Turn." Ciel reflects on what this 'turn' means.  SebCiel


**Disclaimer: **Let us share because we are happy fam- Ok, no.

**About:** It is a continuation to Maiden of the Moon's fic "Turn," from her Bicentennial series.

**Note:** Hey. So. Like. Hey. I'm sorry if you didn't intend it to be this way. If it's totally off. I hope you like it or at least don't hate it.  
>But it's because I love everything you write anyway. xD So truly, enjoy, feel <strong>entirely<strong> free to criticize! After all, this is your universe, I merely borrowed it and made something out of it. We one-sided lovers of yours fill in the holes for you. :'D Anyway...

So, Moony. I heard you like Shakespeare.

* * *

><p>He remembers his lessons on Shakespeare, and he remembers having read Macbeth.<p>

An unoriginal protagonist, desperate and greedy, sloppily picking his moves across the board, spontaneous and impulsive, and really, there hasn't even been a devil chasing after _him_. Macbeth had left chance to crown him, for the pawns had acted on their will and overpowered the King with his very own dependence, and in the end, nothing had been under his control, not even his death. A trite tragedy. And Ciel had thought it a famous play with its merit supported only by the pretty lyrics that were the unconventional dialogue, filled to the brim with beautiful nothings and witty metaphors. Much of that and nothing more. But now he was older, he was wiser, he was timeless and this excessive (_infinite_) amount of time in his hands permitted him to look back to that script with new eyes that had nothing else to look at (_preferred to remain closed because he was afraid to open them_). There was that single soliloquy that had marked a distinct climax to the story, to the character that was Macbeth.

"_**Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player**_

_**That struts and frets his hour upon the stage...**_

He closed his fist around what felt like bed sheets - and why shouldn't it feel as such? He remembers the bed, he remembers the implicit confessions (_the explicit ones hadn't happened, they hadn't, he couldn't have-Sebastian couldn't-_-), but he remembers a lot of things. So many that his mind is a chaotic melody going about in unpredictable staccato loops, fluctuating into the lows and highs, knowing how to make no discrimination, and it is timeless, because everything is replaying at the same time. The fledgling can't help but remember captivity, the nearest he had ever been and will ever be to his humanity, how he had called out for help and everything began. He remembers hatred oozing from every particle that made up his servant those early years. He remembers emotions, too many, but being too rational as a demon to act upon them, to ever let them escape the tight confines of his mind (_of his heart; was there any such thing anymore?_). He remembers losing everything, as much as he had taken away from Sebastian. Ciel Phantomhive was a ghost inhabiting the nooks of the minds that had once recognized his name, probably all decaying somewhere in the earth right now, and he had no reason to live. He would exist with no purpose, rather as a parasite, a leech that fed on whatever scraps he could pull from the world's corruption, forcing Sebastian to live off whatever of these he could afford to share. And really, how could be blame his servant for hating him then? How could he blame himself for being forced into this life, this he had never been intended to have? And who would he blame instead?

_**And then is heard no more.**_

_**It is a tale**_ _**Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury...**_

He knew what Macbeth meant now, but he could no longer find himself within the generalization of how he had represented life, because it was meant for a human. A human would strut and fret his hour upon the stage, and then it would be over, allowing the actor to rest and a sequel to be born out of it. But Ciel Phantomhive will forever be stuck. The fledgling mind's has torn itself apart so often that particular morning between hating his life and himself. For the final blow, he also remembers why he had formed the contract in the first place. _I will not die in vain. I want to be the soul he desires._ And _oh_, the resolution in his words, he hadn't realized how much his control had been but an illusion supported only by his servant back then, a reality that belonged to both of them, and only them alone. At the end, he didn't have enough control to prevent this.

And there was no helping it, was there?

So Ciel halted his thoughts, reaching the same conclusion he always had whenever those ideas successfully overcame his common sense and were born out of those emotions reminiscent of his humanity. Ghosts. Pointless. Useless. His position shifted unconsciously as the mental turmoil was forced to cease, and he found himself pressing more against the source of warmth that embraced him under the tangled blankets. Both figuratively and literally. The action did not pass unnoticed.

"So what has made you brood incessantly for the last hour, young master?"

His eyes didn't open, even then. A half-hearted act of stubbornness because he could and he would if he could. The apparent-child could only hope that his butler (now-lover) would leave him alone, because now was not the time. There was a reason underlying every extent of his actions, as childish as they might have seem, but he was most certainly not ready to open his eyes and welcome the demon who so strangely held him. Still, he wanted, no, _needed_ to know. "Sebastian."

"Yes?" A grin somehow stole a place into his voice. Though Ciel would have normally been careful with his words from then on, there was something about how those arms felt around him and how that voice soothed his ragged nerves, because it was dripping with a subtle yet obvious... Fondness.

"How did you manage to bear it so long?"

"Existence, you mean?" Sebastian had been expecting this, apparently. He had probably thought the same, at some point.

"Yes."

"A demon's life does usually lack meaning, because it is granted... Indeed, it loses that fleeting quality to it, the one humans undermine by musings of immortality...

_**Signifying nothing."**_

...However, that is irrelevant to me now, young master."

"...What do you mean?"

"I take you remember your transformation forced my former lifestyle to end. You were intended to be a part of that cycle, a mere contract out of many." The words fitted warmly yet uneasily between their already hot, naked bodies, mingling in the ethereal virtues of their embrace and everything that locked it. "But as you took it from me, you gave my existence something else, my baby bird."

When had Sebastian become so open? Ciel had to exploit this moment. "And what is that?" And because he wanted to see as much as hear the answer, his lashes fluttered and mismatched depths of color slowly revealed themselves to Sebastian.

There could not have been a better sight to introduce him to this new stage of their lives that had just begun. Sebastian's raven locks messily framed the most peaceful of expressions, his brown eyes half-lidded and had all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming, dreaming of tomorrow. The corners of his lips stretched back slightly more to then part and let the murmurous answer go through them, almost tangible when uttered in that deep tone that cut through any doubt. "Significance."

Macbeth had been wrong.

Or maybe right, if he was intending to refer only to humans, but it did not matter. Every thought of Macbeth and tragedy had left Ciel when everything that had marked his existence until then flew out of the space between them because there was no longer room for it to occupy. Sebastian had ensured that when the space had been sealed by their bodies along with their lips, and this time, his servant was the one who asked and took in the same manner. Soon enough there was an encore of yesterday's act. They were again one in the same, inside him and over him, panting sweet nothings more beautiful than whatever Ciel had ever read from Shakespeare, and he would have never imagined sex could be so much more than a corporeal manifestation of mundane lust. But everything changed when they offered each other in this way, more than his mentality, even more than his life. He was daring to say that everything that was part of him, and Sebastian, had turned around.


End file.
